


Letters From the President

by KingAardvark1st



Category: Project Wingman (Video Game)
Genre: Complete, Gen, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28611813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingAardvark1st/pseuds/KingAardvark1st
Summary: As the Sicario mercenary company heads into Cascadia to join the war on the side of the Cascadia Independence Force, Hitman 1 "Monarch's" WSO, Prez, starts sending letters home to her family.  They don't know the work she does, believing that she's a civilian contractor with the Federation.  The truth couldn't be further from that.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	1. Black Flag

Dear Sybil,

Hey sis, hit on the idea to start sending you letters with each shipment of money I get you. I’d like to say I’ve been working my cute little butt off, but mostly I’ve been sipping mai tais and perfecting my tan. This Caribbean deployment has been the easiest money I’ve ever made. Hope the care packages I’ve been sending you haven’t been too slim. See, I've been on pirate hunting patrols, and the brass kinda considers my pilot, Monarch, kinda overkill. Especially since we fly a damned F/D-14 Pallas. For every minute we spend flying that thing I probably spend an hour working on it. Still, I was excited to get a little air time. At least until we actually got to fighting.

Not entirely sure how to describe flying with him to you, but here's a rough concept. Imagine you’re locked in a cage with an adolescent gorilla. He’s gonna beat you up, not because he’s mad but because he doesn’t understand the meaning of “playing gently.” For every minute you play with him, you get a thousand bucks, and by the end you need an aspirin and some bourbon. I’m glad to put up with him for your sake, but I swear on the Buddha’s floppy great tits he must have a heart powered by a nuclear reactor and bones made of titanium. We were just sent to clear out a pirate base and help capture a tanker, so we were mostly just fighting old Spectres and Sharkbaits, but he went after them like they’d insulted his mother. Guess a certain race horse was tired of being stuck in the barn. Are horse races still at thing? Oh, weird side note, apparently bombing a tanker full of unstable cordium causes a blast like someone decided to take another dump on Hiroshima. Glad he didn’t try to strafe the damn thing like he normally does.

Anyways, enjoy the cash I’m sending now. I’ll try to keep in touch for the next deployment, but I’m not sure how doable that’ll be. We’re heading into Cascadia; apparently there’s some sort of civil war brewing there. You hear anything about that? Officially we're supposed to keep quiet about it, but I'd rather you and the folks know what I'm up to. Side-note, I’m thinking my flight’s none-too-pleased about this assignment. The other two I fly with, Diplomat and Comic, are usually pretty chatty after a mission, egged on by Monarch buying us a nice meal, but this time they just sulked at the on-base bar. Totally clammed up around me to boot. Monarch also hasn’t said a thing, but the dude says about three sentences in a day so that’s nothing new. Sometimes it feels like I’m just a third wheel in their little group. I dunno if it’s intentional or they’re just that close. Also confused about how anyone gets close to Monarch. I’ve been flying with him for a touch over a year and I don’t even know where he’s from, much less anything more substantial. My money says the lot of them are Cascadian though.

Anywho, give the folks my best. Catch ya on the flipside.

Love,

Robin


	2. Frontiers

Dear Sybil,

Welp, don’t think I’m coming home anytime soon, not without a reeeaaal good visit to a counterfeit passport dealer. That whole Cascadian conflict? Turns out it’s a full-blown fight for independence, to the point that both sides are fielding airships. Yep, do not adjust your glasses, I’m not joking. As in the Cascadian Independence Force (original name, right?) is hiring mercenaries by the truckload. I would still like to know how much you’re hearing out there in the real world. Just crossing the border was a harrowing ordeal; ‘protests and riots’ my backside.

Basically, as my unit was crossing the border several squadrons of fighters came after our aerial convoy and my own squadron had to peel off and deal with them. Now, I’ve always been proud to say that my pilot is the crown jewel of our battalion, always been the scariest pilot you've ever met. But… something was different this time. My boy didn’t just take down the enemy squadrons, he eviscerated them. It was like he’d been waiting all his life to do this and could taste the blood in the water. It was all I could do to keep feeding him fresh targets. Poor bastards even sent an airship after us; I never thought I’d see one of those leviathans get dispatched so quickly and effortlessly. He just swatted it aside like it was a spider and us a roll of newspaper. When we landed I asked him what was up. As usual, I only got one sentence from him: “Today just felt right.” Cryptic much? Still, never seen him with such a spark in his eye. Regardless of the reason, our colonel is making noise about giving my squadron hazard pay for our good work, so I think my next check will be much meatier. Might even be able to fund moving to Cascadia like the folks were talking about, though you should probably delay that for obvious reasons.

Right now we’re stationed on a temporary landing strip. Read: camping. Because apparently my ass wasn’t sore enough from the flight over. The Cascadian hospitality has been pretty awful, probably on account of mixed feelings about the Federation. Practically had to shout to get one of the local mechanics to acknowledge me, and afterwards I’m about 85% sure he pissed in my canteen. Assholes. We’re here to help aren’t we? That said, seeing Dip have a freaking meltdown about sleeping in the rough has made it worth it. Wish I’d snapped a picture of his reaction to seeing our tents. I always knew he was a bit of a blue-blood (dude’s TAC is Diplomat after all), but oh my gosh he is such a priss! Best part was that, afterwards, Mick disappeared for about three hours. When we finally saw her again, she was setting up an honest-to-god boar on a spit. Judging by Dip's reaction, you would’ve thought she proposed to him or something. Ended up being a nice night sharing pork chops and ghost stories around the fire. Maybe I was just trapped in a cockpit with an extra-psycho Monarch, but damned if that wasn’t the tastiest rack of ribs I’ve ever had.

Anyways, doubt you’ll get this letter soon, but hopefully by the time you get it I’ll be in a place with a bathroom instead of a gardening trowel. Or at least no bobcats yowling all night.

Love,

Robin


	3. Homestead

Dear Sybil,

I finally made it to my more permanent station, little airstrip so far up north that it gets about four hours of sunlight in a day this time of the year. Obviously, security is sitting on my hands to keep me from telling you where specifically, but it’s by far a step up from the wagon train we’d been staying in. It’s beautiful up here. The night after we landed I got to see the auroras in person, was like the earth itself was welcoming us in. The native Cascadians took it as an omen from the Dust Mother, their local goddess I guess, and spent most of the night dragging me on a pub crawl in the local village. Totally bizarre little world, could probably write an entire book about the differences. No geothermal storms up here, nobody’s carrying around air masks. The houses aren’t all prefab, in fact some people live in log cabins and the like. So few people here too, the whole village could fit in one skyscraper with room to spare. The only pub we could find was like something out of a fantasy novel, only missing the dragon skull. Had this really weird beer, tasted kinda fruity. Food’s not bad either, if you don’t mind fish. Don’t eat the geo-shark, though. Tastes like pickled pig feet from hell.

Never did explain to you why I was flying with a fighter pilot, did I? I mean, I know I explained to you that my unit was desperate enough to ask civilian mechanics to hop in the back seats of fighters as WSOs, that I am _**technically**_ a mercenary. But I guess it sounded like I was doing it for the money. There’s more to it than that. On the ground, the other two pilots that I work with, that I trust with my life, are complete misfits. Diplomat is a goofy pampered child who should’ve been washed out of the military before he made it through basic training. Comic has enough one-month AA tokens to make a set of brass knuckles from them. But when they’re under Monarch, it’s like there’s some sort of divine force running through them. They become something else, something so much better. Monarch himself barely needs to say anything, like I said he couldn’t spit out so much as a haiku, he just commands by existing and acting. He stirs something in them that makes them into so much more than they should. I like what he stirs in me. I like the woman that flying with him has made me into. I can't say for sure I've found a purpose with him, but I'm at least considering it.

Not that I meant to insult the others, they’re good friends. Dip’s a lot like Romeo, eerily so actually, like the two are sharing one soul between them. He’s the closest thing I have here to a brother, even if I'm taking bets with the others on whether he wears nail polish. Comic’s a bit severe, guess her nickname is ironic or something, but I’ve never met anyone who cares more for people who aren’t their family. Or hell, maybe she is family of a sort, sure seems to think she's my aunt. Plus, I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d suggest those two were… cuddling for warmth right about now. And Monarch, as intimidating as his presence is, he’s got this way of pointing out the beautiful things in life. This morning he gathered up the whole squadron just so we could watch the sunrise together. The way the light glinted off the snow, ice, and lake… oh it was positively gorgeous.

Actually, our CO is a fun sort too. Goes on these long-winded spiels about how our actions will be written in history books, that we’ll “live on in fame or go down in flames” and such. Dude should’ve become an actor, he’s got the talent for it. We’ve also got this politburo officer with us now, goes by Stardust, and he’s more annoying. Very preachy and patriotic to a fault. Makes it sound like Cascadia is the center of the world and that if it falls the entire world goes with it. If I could I’d duct tape his mouth shut. Oh! Someone found a grolar bear cub and is taking care of her on-base as our mascot. Her name’s Sophie, and she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll snap a photo for ya.

Anyways, I expect the war’s about to heat up soon. Not sure how much I’ll be able to tell you about our operations (I actually got my first letter from this base shredded for that reason), but I’ll keep you posted as much as I can. Give the folks my best.

Love,

Robin

P.S.: [Isn't she precious!](https://i.insider.com/523b504beab8ea7b5c647572?width=750&format=jpeg&auto=webp)


	4. Uphill, Every Way

Dear Sybil,

First thing’s first, I want you to go out and get as many bottles of Salvemini wine as you can before the price jumps. Trust me, you’ll thank me later. Just avoid the year 428, heard a local complaining about that vintage. I can personally report that the red 413 is F.I.N.E. Six out of five stars.

So, today I got the special chance to fly in an SK-25 Toadstool. Special as in “Sorry about Bobby, he rode his bike head-first into a forklift arm and now he’s a little special.” I’m not sure where our unit found this flying bundle of bailing wire and pixie dust, probably fished it out of the lake judging by the amount of rust on it. Had to perform mid-flight repairs to the console a few times in-flight, at one point mid-dogfight. Thing even turns like an obese hog with a leg chopped off. Seats were pretty comfy though, gonna have to see about getting them transferred to the Pallas.

Basically, there was a battalion that got itself surrounded in a very classified location (which has absolutely nothing to do with my business advice) and my squadron was sent to dig them out. It looked real ugly down there, sis. Poor guys were surrounded on all sides, and even from up high you could see how desperate things were. Thankfully, that old Toadstool carries enough ordinance to kick-start a second Calamity while Monarch is possessed by the ghost of an angry Swede or something. You remember that time when we were playing that old strategy board game, Peril, and you had me cornered in South Africa? You know, when I wiped out seven cannons and you got so mad you flipped the table? Yeah, Monarch and I were the weighted dice today. Mostly it was just a smack-down of air-to-ground missiles and strafing runs with the noisiest damn gunpods ever while Dip and Mick covered us. Not that Monarch didn’t attack anyone who dared enter his personal airspace. Speaking of which, I never realized how little I was able to see in the old Pallas; in this thing I could see where we were going at all times. Word of advice: if you ever wind up in a fighter’s back seat, don’t look. Damn near crapped myself when we jousted with another fighter.

Obviously, the enemy unit wasn’t wiped out, but all their machinery sure did a nice Humpty Dumpty impression and our boys were able to clear out safely. Even got the sense that they were happy for our help, which made for a nice change of pace. If nothing else the locals back at base were a little more welcoming. In particular, the family of one of the soldiers kept buying us drinks. Uuuunfortunately we’d already also shared that bottle of red 413 with each other. Mick had to be carried home and this morning I found Monarch curled up in the Toadstool’s cockpit with earmuffs and a blindfold. Dip and I wound up having a nice chat over some water and ibuprofen though. Mostly we just shot the crap, but we did wind up talking about families and he mentioned something that got me thinking. “Family’s a thing you do, not a thing you are, and let’s just say that Comic, Monarch, and you are my only family.”

I’m not sure if he included me to make me feel good or if he genuinely feels that way, but I... hope I’m still family enough for you, Sybil. I know that my money and letters are a pretty poor replacement for me, but I hope you understand that I’m doing it specifically for you. I want you and the folks to be able to keep the life we’ve always had. I want to be able to come home and find you guys thriving, or maybe even doing better than when I left. And… I’m not sure I could just immediately come home at this point. This is the life that feels comfortable now, gonna be hard to return to normal. But I promise you, I will come home, and we will see normal again. Give everyone my best.

Love,

Robin

P.S. If you ever invite someone to share a bottle of wine with you, specify JUST you two.


	5. Sirens of Defeat

Dear Sybil,

Today was a strange one. Do you remember that cartoon, Barking Panther, where the main character went through life carefree while literally everyone around him kept suffering the worst kinds of bad luck? He’d crouch down to pick up a winning lottery ticket someone dropped in the middle of the road, causing a car to veer into Mr. Lemur’s fruit stand and stuff like that? That was my day.

Me and the fellas were tasked with securing air superiority over another retreat, this one near a pretty major city. Though, in typical Monarch fashion when he heard the phrase “naval blockade,” he got this twinkle in his eye and had the ground crew load a few bomb racks onto our Pallas. The air battle honestly started pretty sleepy; it’s never easy flying with Monarch, especially with the missile warnings in my ear, but these weren’t exactly top-notch pilots. Even Dip was giving them a good thrashing, much less Monarch asserting dominance over their smoking wreckage. The bombing runs over the enemy navy though? If there had been coal in my ass I’d be sending you a diamond.

Then the airship fleet turned up, and hoo boy was that a spooky sight. I’d been so busy dogfighting that I didn’t hear our AWACS mention them until one blotted out the sun. Though, for all Mick’s complaints about them (seriously, you could sink a salt mine into her and make millions), they weren’t that hard to take down. Then again, Monarch likes to dive-bomb them so maybe it’s just that I’m riding with him.

So where’s the bad luck come in? Well, the thing about shooting down airships is the ‘down’ part of that sentence. Now, apparently the city was mostly evacuated and Monarch was smart enough to bring down the enemy ships over the sparser sections of the city, over water where he could, but there’s only so much he could do. It was depressing watching the huge monsters plunge into the suburbs. Wound up having to shout Dip awake at one point when he watched one fall on his home neighborhood. Even if no lives were lost to the crashes besides the crew who couldn’t make it to lifeboats, it was pretty sobering. Thing is, they were firing railguns and missiles into the city to hit our retreating allies, so shooting them down probably did less damage than letting them fight. Whose bright idea was it to use those things over a city in the first place? Should be them with a big green metal pickle dropping into their lap. Bastards.

So yeah, the whole mission went well for what it was and our squadron was in high spirits, but our local allies were pretty dour. Monarch was in particularly high spirits, whistling some metal tune I can’t quite place (seriously, it’s been stuck in my head all day), but Dip was rattled. His folks were fine, but I think the near-miss shook him. Mick decided it would be a good idea to take the lot of us ice fishing to get his mind off it. Can’t say I didn’t appreciate the chance either. Mostly we just shot the crap and drank beer; it was weird seeing Dip matching Mick drink-for-drink. Only caught one fish, and that got stolen by a damn fox when nobody was looking. It was nice though, even managed to get something out of Monarch for once. Not much, just that his sister had been a mercenary back in the day and had a deal where she sent most of her money back to him. Sort of like what I’ve been doing for you with the Federation, now that I think about it. Sounds like she’s not around anymore though. Weird thing is that he doesn’t seem that morose about it, in one breath expressing some vague regret about working the airship docks, and the next laughing at Dip knocking a beer bottle on his teeth. Time heals all wounds I guess?

Anyways, I’ve rambled on long enough. There’s something I want to tell you, but I need to clear it with a few people in my chain of command, including Monarch come to think about it, and that’ll take time. You can reassure the folks that I’m doing well. Also, going forward the intel boys are insisting I stop identifying myself in my letters and go by my callsign. Nevermind us being twins or whatever. Buuut yeah, it’s either that or not send these letters at all, and that ain’t happening. So…

Love, your sister,

Prez


	6. Machine of the Mantle

Dear Sybil,

I have a confession that’s long overdue. I’ve been umming and ahing over telling you for a while, been discussing it with the guys off and on for over a week. Actually wound up debating it with my boss and maybe the local bartender. Even had a girls’ night out with Comic to mull it over. Even then, I was going to leave things be, let your ignorance be your bliss. Until today. Today, I decided that I needed you to know what I’m fighting for, just… just in case. If this winds up biting me in the backside, so be it.

I’m not fighting for the Federation. My squadron, and everyone who entered the civil war with us, are fighting for Cascadia’s independence. The people I’ve been shooting down? Federation. The forces I’ve been rescuing from near-impossible odds? Cascadian. I’m fighting to help Cascadia break off from the Federation, facing off against the largest military on Earth. I’m a rebel, sis. Technically I’m a mercenary. If the Federation catches wind of my actual identity, I can’t ever come home. On the bright side, you know how mom and dad were talking about moving the family to Cascadia? Well, I think if we win I’ll be able to pull more than a few strings on that. I know you probably want more of an explanation, like “why on god’s brimstone-scorched earth would I do such a thing,” but honestly I’ve just stuck with this other family I’ve found. Trying to stay by their side through this madness and hoping that when we come out the other side I’m able to come home to you. Okay, so why did they do this? Well, I kinda need to explain today in order to get to that.

So, now that THAT is all out of the way, today’s mission will make a bit more sense. Basically, the reason Cascadia’s trying to break off in the first place is that the Federation is using her resources for imperialist conquest and they’d rather let their resources go to the world. So what’s the CIF’s answer? Cripple the cordium plants so the Federation doesn’t have access to those resources and remove their reason for being here. Theoretically. Basically all our squadrons were sent out on various strike missions across the continent, and Monarch and I hit the largest facility. You know what that means? Toadstool time, yaaaayyyyy.

Most of the mission was remarkably relaxing, like watching fireworks. There’s something oddly soothing about watching cordium containers cook off, and I had front-row seats to it. Not that the Federation took it lying down, but the defenses were light and the four of us were able to handle most of it. That said, I was ready to kill Monarch when he decided to fly THROUGH A CORDIUM EXTRACTOR! You know, those things literally planted into lava? Set up in an arch? WE FLEW THROUGH ONE! Because apparently my life is a cheap action movie! I’d never been so mad at him.

Then the reinforcements came. Even before we had ID on them I could tell they were something else. When Monarch went head-on with them in his usual fashion, they just flowed around him. No surprise or uncertainty, they just reacted to us like they’d done this a hundred times. They were flying these advanced fighters, the sorts you only ever saw in propaganda reels. Literally. I realized who this was just as our AWACS called them out. It was Crimson Squadron, the Cascadian Peacekeepers. Yes, THOSE Peacekeepers. To say my squadron panicked is an understatement; Comic immediately just said “Nope, I’m out, peace!” and Dip followed her. Now, at first I just assumed that Monarch decided to tangle with Crimson to hold them off while everyone else escaped, that seemed sensible. But then those two left the area and we were still fighting. I burned myself tapping his shoulder to remind him to leave, but he just wouldn’t go. He just kept stuck in an eight-on-one dogfight against the best damn squadron in the Federation. It was like he was possessed, and nothing short of killing one of them would break him out of it. And mind you, this whole time we’re in a damn SK-25, which belongs in a museum alongside a musket.

Thing was? Monarch didn’t seem to notice. This wasn’t just Monarch being Monarch, it was like he’d been holding back all these years, like he’d been saving himself for this fight. I couldn’t even do anything throughout the fight, he just kept tangling with them until he finally got a good gunpod burst on an SK-37 and killed one of its engines. The whole squadron ran off with their tail between their legs. We scared off Peacekeepers. The fact we were still alive was as much a shock to our squadron as it was to me. Of course, the instant our boots hit concrete I grabbed Monarch and slammed him into the landing gear demanding to know what the hell he was thinking. Because, you know, going eight-on-one against Peacekeepers in a steam-powered car isn’t a recipe for a long life and he damn near got me killed. He just calmly took off his helmet and told me, “We made them bleed. That’s what I needed. What WE needed.”

See, Comic and Dip are Cascadian, but I think they’re just here because the CIF pays better and they don’t like the Feds. But Monarch? I think he genuinely wants to be here. It’s not patriotism, not really, it’s more personal than that. The Federation did something to him, something that’s cut him to his core, and now he finally has a chance to correct it. Not his sister, this seems to have cut deeper than even that could. I think in the moment Crimson was an avatar of the Federation, this titan that couldn’t be touched, and he made it bleed. This fight has meaning for him, a deep visceral one that I’ve never seen in him before. He really was out to prove something.

Thing is? It worked. There’s hope going around the base. The pain of our retreats suddenly has been replaced with an inkling that maybe what we’re doing is actually possible. The local bar got its hands on our guncam footage somehow and put it up on the big screen for everyone to see. The Cascadians are smiling. For the first time since we arrived, I’m hearing laughter from them. Monarch’s done something here, something good for the people. I just wish he didn’t literally dangle my ass over a fire to do it.

So, yeah. I know this letter’s been a lot to digest. Not even sure if you’ll believe half of it. But… I want you to know who I am. I want you to remember me for me, not who you think I am. I can’t imagine the Federation will be able to keep this war quiet forever, and eventually you’ll start hearing things about me, even if they don’t know my name. I just want you to hear my side before making any judgments. If it winds up hurting me, well so be it. Regardless, I love you sis, you and all the folks. There’s nothing that could ever change that. I’m still me, but I’m also someone else, someone molded by this squadron. Maybe one day my two families will get the chance to meet each other. Until then, look after them, Sybil. I’ll see you when I can.

Love,

Prez


	7. Eminent Domain

Dear Sybil,

Yar har fiddly dee, a rebel was I now a pirate I be! Yar har fiddly dee, the Toadstool Pirate! Well, okay, technically it would be a privateer, and technically technically I wasn’t the pirate but rather helping the people doing the piracy, but I couldn’t shake that thought for the whole mission today. Didn’t help that our AWACS, Galaxy, wound up playing sea shanties to us the whole way home.

The Cascadians managed to steal the best old ship in the Federation Navy, a massive battleship they promptly rechristened _Emminent Domain._ She was homeward bound but needed help breaking a Fed blockade. Dip was spared the pleasure of flying through a full-blown storm along the whole mission; lucky bastard was sent on another cordium mission early in the morning, leaving Monarch, myself, and Comic to bully the alley of Feds. Now, the geothermal storms back home were technically worse, but I swear when flying it felt like the storm of the century, thought for sure we were going to get struck by lightning. As it was the old Toadstool got knocked around like a wild goose. Now, compared to that blockade fleet we scuttled in port this was a minor force, that one had a couple battleships to say nothing of their elite protector squadron, but dealing with warships is never easy. Thought for sure that between the fighters above us, the missiles coming up at us, and the storm between them, we’d be heading for the fish in the sea. As it was we were already in a helluva furball while more than a few fed ships rolled and went before _Emminent Domain_ appeared. Frankly, I felt more than in over my head.

Then up rose Captain ~~Kidd~~ Woodward’s voice, and I swear you’ll never hear anyone able to put a bigger smile on your face. Felt like Poseidon himself was calling us to battle in defense of his ship. When he saw the fleet at his heels he basically said, “They have us surrounded, NOW WE CAN FIRE IN EVERY DIRECTION!” So with that we rolled out our old chariot to send them fool sailors down to Davy Jones. After the brawl with Crimson, this was an absolute cakewalk. As the last of the pursuit team was burning up the sea and running for lifeboats, the old maids on the shore fired a volley of cruise missiles to smite the _Emminent Domain_ , but even in our drunken sailor of a fighter, Monarch was able to strike ‘em down, putting an end to this sailboat malarkey. Not that I minded, I’d gladly give my left kidney to replace Galaxy with Captain Woodward. The man personally sent us a bottle of Black Crest scotch for crying out loud! Why not add some roses and diamond earrings why don’t ya?

Speaking of which, when we got back I had a bone to pick with Galaxy; bugger thought he could do better than me behind the stick of a fighter and called me out mid-mission! Man’s a glorified switchboard operator while I’ve been in the back seat of the best damn pilot in our whole unit. So, once everyone caught their breath I demanded he stand and deliver on those words. Monarch even sat in the back seat of my T/F-4. Went through three rounds of battle, and let me tell you I beat him handily, me boys. Yup. Definitely. I totally smoked him and went to share some whiskey at Johnny’s Bar. No embarrassment whatsoever. Was pretty funny to see Monarch disoriented for once actually; had to roll him over to keep him from puking himself to death. I should’ve been a pilot. Yup.

Afterwards Comic and I did some karaoke at the bar in commiserations, and boy was that a good time. Even got some of the other ladies in our unit to join in; had one heck of a girl choir going. Naturally we all had headaches this morning to say “Good morning, ladies all,” but ya know what, it was a blast. Was probably the most fun I’ve had since running down to Cuba. Hope you and the folks are having half as good a time.

Love,

Prez


	8. Clear Skies

Dear Sybil,

Look at me, sis! I’m on TV! I’m not sure how much has made it your way, but NNC got their hands on some footage of Monarch and me. I should’ve painted up my helmet or something, or given it a bright blue mohawk or something. Maybe a product placement? “In these troubled times, real Cascadians choose Turkey of the Sea.” Anywho, if you see an F/D-14 Pallas with a crown on its tail, that’s-a-me!

Actually, the mission that led to that video was a weird one. Basically, now that our beloved pet pirate captain is wreaking havoc in the sea, the Federation is trying to get an aerial supply train going. Naturally, the CIF didn’t want any of that, so they threw together a mass air operation to lock down various key sections of Cascadia’s air space. That meant everyone flying in pairs, so Monarch and I were stuck with Diplomat. To be fair, Comic can handle herself, whereas I could probably take Dip in a dogfight myself. Here’s the fly in the ointment though: not sure you know this, but all civilian airways are also subject to allowing military air traffic. Yep, it’s what it sounds like, the Federation military was using civilian airways. With Cascadia being as huge as it is, that meant there were a LOT of air liners mixed in with the military craft.

Don’t worry, no civilians got so much as scratched. Come on, what do you take us for? That said, it was an interesting challenge to keep our missiles from locking on the wrong targets in the heat of the moment. Dip tossed the idea around that the Feds were intentionally using the air liners as human shields. Not sure how likely that is, since it wasn't that big an obstacle, but if that’s the case HOLY SMOKES THESE MORONS ARE EVIL. Only really close call was a bit when Monarch damn near flew us straight into an Air Cascadia airship, thought for sure we’d hit it. Wound up seeing footage of that later: we’d wound up flying between the wings! Scared the piss out of the poor bastards aboard, that’s for sure. Would’ve scared something else out of me if we’d been in the Toadstool and I’d seen where we were going.

We probably shot down a dozen transports and at least as many escorts before a proper response got sent up in the shape of an aerial battlecruiser and a pair of modified F/C 15 Harpies. Honestly, they probably could’ve saved everyone some time by just sending up fireworks, would’ve had the same effect. Afterwards we were sent home, but not before Dip suggested we give a little camera time for the airliners. Ya know, fly up alongside ‘em, waggle the wings, smile and wave, that sort of thing. Guess he IS the Diplomat. Now, the funny thing is that air marshals had been confiscating phones and stuff, at least according to the news footage, but you know what they forgot to do? Check the air crew. Soooo yeah, you’ll get to see me all masked up in combat gear on TV! Woohoo!

Comic actually got a bit salty at Dip for being a showboater, but all it took was an emergency visit from our bear cub to cheer her back up. Besides, now the Cascadian news networks are talking about us in a pretty positive light and lambasting the Federation’s screw-ups. I mean really, sending a _Littoria_ to do intercepts? Did nobody think that through? Afterwards we all just wound up playing Mega Family Brawlers 17 and kept making showbiz jokes with the rest of the pilots. God, I'm bad at that game. Naturally, when the topic of celebrity couples came up, Dip and Mick pulled a vanishing act, not that the jokes were any worse than normal. I can think of a different “celebrity couple” I’d like to see, if the doofus wasn’t dense as a collapsed star. Oh man, and the boss is eating this whole show biz thing up, just basking in it and even giving interviews with the locals. I think we might have done a very bad thing. With Kaiser, you learn to recognize that twinkle in his eye when he’s about to go on a power trip and is pre-emptively writing his memoirs. If I disappear soon, blame him.

So yeah, things are looking up for the rebellion. Wouldn’t say we have things under control, but at least we’re getting the word out. Really wish I knew what they were saying on your side of the pond. Nothing good I’d wager. Anywho, give the folks my love, and if you adopt a bear make sure to keep it away from your shoes. Seriously, Sophie’s got a body count almost as high as Monarch’s.

Love,

Prez.

P.S.: I talked with my boss, managed to get some copies of the news reports to send with this, AND we got the gun cam footage! Enjoy!


	9. Stepping Stone

Dear Sybil,

This might be one of the few letters I write not for you but for me. Or maybe I’ll just staple this one to tomorrow’s letter or something like that. Just got told I’ve got maybe six hours to crash before I need to be up and prepping for tomorrow’s flight. This quick of a turn around isn’t going to be good on anyone involved, but I’ve got stuff to decompress.

Last night Monarch and I were sent on a solo mission to clear an air corridor of AA defenses, mostly the local missile batteries. Well, us and our AWACS, Galaxy. I don’t think I realized how nice it was to have Dip, Mick, and the rest of our unit to talk with in-flight. Galaxy’s okay as a conversation partner, but he’s also just kind of an ass. Also, the old jockey always had a fondness for scuttlebutt, but I think having us to himself might have made him a bit nosier. Felt like I was being interviewed half the flight back.

Anyways, the mission was pretty straight-forward in theory; use the mountains for radar cover, bomb everything that could threaten our formation, and take out anything else that catches our fancy. Was expecting it to be boring, at worst a few Accipters to intercept us, which are able to take off vertically if you didn’t know. Apparently someone thought it was a good idea to blast tunnels through entire mountains in order to make runways, like some sort of psychopath, so we had to deal with all kinds of interceptors along with the missiles. Speaking of which, I’m now convinced that Monarch has some sort of mental condition, is there such a thing as claustrophilia? Because this freaking lunatic decided to not just fly through those damn things at full speed, but to blow up the cordium fuel tanks inside just for giggles! Ugh, there’s no way the engines on this thing are gonna be good to go by tomorrow morning. And I got to watch him do it this time. I actually carved furrows in my seat with my fingers.

Regardless, we pulled it off, basically leveled every last base in the area and brought down their entire interceptor compliment. Anyways, know how Galaxy was pestering us, trying to figure out the ‘mystery’ of Monarch and the other two? Well, midway home Monarch decided randomly decided that we were having “radio problems” with Galaxy and shut ‘em off so it could just be us two. Had me chuckling, but I didn’t realize he actually wanted to have a heart-to-heart with me. “Ignoring that fat-mouthed buzzard, there is a good point he brings up: you deserve to know what Dip, Mick, and myself are looking for. You’re one of us, so you deserve to know.”

The short version? Home. All three of them are no longer welcome anywhere in the world. Cascadia, their home, had cast them out for assorted reasons. Dip’s family has shunned him, Mick was dishonorably discharged for a questionable call in the air, and Monarch? He was part of a little group called the Knights of Good Hope, a gang that watched over the area around his local church to the Dust Mother, Saint Esperanza’s. Apparently a lot of former “Knights” got involved in Oceania back in the day; Monarch was too young then, but his sister was their pride and joy, called her their Lancelot. I don’t know if you heard of the Good Hope Dispute, I sure hadn’t, but let’s just say that the Feds started pulling on every string related to Oceania, and one led its way back to Saint Esperanza’s and the knights. I guess the Federation tried to call it a “Dispute” to hide the fact that a months-long siege took place in the heart of a major city. According to Monarch it ended peacefully, but knights started disappearing. So, the knights that could disappeared into the woodwork, some into other cities, some to other nations, some into mercenary companies. Either way, Monarch couldn’t go home. “Until now.”

I wound up spilling my guts to him to, talking about you and all our dozens of siblings and cousins, about the store and our little slice of Daegu, and you of course. All he had to say about it was, “I wish I had that.” It’s… strange to think that our humble little home would be something to envy, but… he does. I’m not sure how selfish his wish is, whether he just wants a normal life, or if he’s got grander goals. Considering how hard he fights, I’m thinking it’s deeper. The Federation wasn’t content with taking everything he had, so now he’s taking back he’s owed with interest. Perhaps I’m reading a bit too far into it, but having flown with him I can feel the call to action. I want him to have what was taken from him. I doubt even Dip and Mick share his cause so deeply, much less the rest of our unit, but I for one appreciate the trust he’s laid on me. In a way, now his mission is mine, and I can definitely think of worse causes to fight for. I don’t think he shares the Cascadians’ nationalism, this is more… primal than that. There’s no ideology, no patriotism, just reclaiming what was taken and ensuring those that carried it out can’t repeat the action.

I’m happy to be with him through this, glad to give him one more set of hands to help him carry them through. Though, it makes me wonder what will happen if we succeed. There’s a lot of war left to go, and I have a hard time picturing Monarch in peace. He’s a war horse, possibly always will be. But… maybe I can help him adjust back. Presuming we win that is.

Ugh, I’ve gotten way too philosophical. This letter DEFINITELY isn’t getting sent your way. It’s already two and I’m still writing. That’s it, getting some rest so that tomorrow I’m not passed out in Monarch’s back seat.

Love,

Prez.


	10. Pillars of Communication

Dear Sybil,

It should be much easier for us to talk now that the communications blackout has met a sticky end at the hands of yours truly and my trusty retinue. It’s been quite an exciting day. We had a big old combined assault with our entire unit, brought down some airships, pummeled an airbase into submission, escorted some paratroopers, might have even snatched a souvenir or two from the base. I think the last thing I’m gonna do to round it all off is KILL MONARCH.

You know how I was worried about the Toadstool yesterday? Well, turns out he totaled her engines! Big shock, inhaling cordium isn’t too good for ‘em, who knew?! Even worse, since I’d overslept my idiot ground crew decided to run up the Pallas without my supervision and she sprung an oil leak. Soooo, we had to take a spare plane into this battle. What did we get? An MG-31 Tamaskan? Nope, we can’t afford the constant replacement parts. An F/D-4 Wraith? Wrong again, those go to the rookie pilots and were all airborne by the time I discovered the problem. No, we had to fly cross-country in a freaking CR. 105 Broadhead, that Cascadian high speed interceptor thing from seventy years ago. You know what I saw for the entirety of the journey? Something in the vicinity of sweet nothing. F/D-14, all is forgiven, just let me be able to see the sky in the future! The only thing even resembling good news was that this Broadhead was being used by the Cascadians as a testbed for giving fighters high-maneuverability thrust nozzles, but that just meant I had to deal with Monarch’s crazy flying at mach 2. Oh, and we didn’t have any flares!

As it turns out, the only thing worse than seeing where Monarch’s taking me is only being able to see the altimeter and target markers on my HUD. It was truly bizarre listening to everything going on outside, watching and feeling the plane go through all kinds of bizarre maneuvers yet only being able to see a tiny porthole to the side of the plane that was either desert or sky at any given moment. I could feel the explosions we were causing rock the plane, but most of the time we were going so fast that it took a solid five seconds for the blast to reach us after impact. Plus, while the Broadhead was never meant for ground pounding, Monarch was able to make it work by his usual strafing madness. Actually, at the very end of the mission we ran out of machinegun ammo. It was the only time I’ve ever heard him say anything mid-mission other than necessary statements: “Ah hell.”

Well, beyond my experiences, the mission was really quite exciting for everyone else. Basically, our whole unit was sent on a one-way trip to stomp out a major comm jamming facility and its attendant air base. And I mean EVERYONE. Even Kaiser got stuck in. It was fascinating watching the entire enemy defenses melt away. Tanks and artillery got pasted the instant Galaxy tagged them. The base’s railguns and SAMs got swept off the map like everyone in the battalion was Monarch. The few airships the Feds were able to summon got divebombed by yours truly (which, by the way, ended with my butt cheeks scraping the desert). The only thing to put up any fight were the interceptors, but half of them met Monarch in typical fashion, while the other half were busy taxiing and subsequently getting bombed. Best part was that our special ops fellas even managed to sabotage the local comms to make anyone who might have been able to help think that this was all a training exercise. Hahaha! Everyone earned their stripes today. Even Dip managed to finally get ace-in-a-day, even if he was panicking like a startled horse during the whole fight. Hope our grunts got bonus hazard pay or something too, they put in the work. Naturally, Kaiser was singing everyone’s praises, clearly soaking up the limelight and making speeches from atop his fighter. Come to think of it, I’m amazed he didn’t get shot by a soldier we missed.

So yeah, after we wiped the floor with the Feds and the survivors basically found places to hide for a few hours, we refueled our planes with local reserves, blew up what was left, and flew off. I even managed to find a neat little souvenir, a plushy of this weird feathered dragon looking thing; Dip called it a “die-no-soar.” I’ll send it back with my pay this time. Actually, today was the first time I saw Monarch crack, namely by being so tired that he asked me to fly us home, and wound up snoring loudly in the back seat the whole way back. Can’t believe I could hear him over the Broadhead’s engines. Best part was that a few people tried to make comments to Monarch, and I jokingly responded with my awful gruff hairy man voice, but since so few people heard him talk, basically everyone bought it. Obviously my squadron didn’t, but they just played along. Dip in particular had a field day. Also, I miiiight have volunteered Monarch for poker night with the spec ops fellas.

Back at base things were interesting. All the Cascadians were feverishly calling their loved ones and seeing how they were. Well, most of ‘em. Dip and Comic wound up disappearing for a while, I thought they were ‘getting lost’ in each other, but I wound up seeing them at the bar seeming a little… down. As much big talk they make about our squadron being family, doesn’t mean their old lives are totally gone. Nothing a little beer and karaoke couldn’t fix though. Plus, afterwards we all sat around the hangars and watched the auroras, sharing our favorite stories of home. I can’t remember ever seeing Comic going to sleep with a smile before.

Anywho, thinking of you, Syb. Looking forward to when this war is over; I think we might be approaching a turning point. Until then, I’ll make sure to keep my head down. And beat some sense into Monarch to keep him from totaling any more of our planes.

Love,

Prez

P.S.: Turns out Monarch is really, REALLY bad at poker. I think we’re even after that disaster.


	11. Cold War

Dear Sybil,

Today was the single most exciting day of my life. Bar none. No questions asked. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Started off so easy going too, mostly just trying (and failing) to train Sophie over some girl talk with Comic. Then the scramble siren came up, and things never stopped snow-balling.

I was still zipping up my G-suit in the briefing room where we were hurriedly told that a transport intercept had somehow escalated into the largest furball of the entire war, with both sides sending every available fighter at it. Hell, one guy said that the entirety of the Cascadian air force was deployed to this one battle. Naturally, there was no pussy-footing around, Monarch and I needed to take the Pallas for this one loaded with as many AA missiles as she could carry, but damn was I nervous. We’d only just gotten her patched the night before and run her engines that morning. But there was no choice, in something like this the war would be won or lost on every wing in the air.

I wish you could have seen it Syb. Just approaching the battle was awe-inspiring. It was like a living, writhing, curling tangle of snakes made of clouds and contrails, each aircraft and missile spawning another wire to the sky. Honestly, I wasn’t even able to take stock of how the battle was going before Monarch plunged us headlong into the fray. Now, normally in battle I handled more comms and IFF management than anything else while Monarch does the lion’s share of the actual weapons work. This time? Even the king of the skies himself could only focus on guns and dogfighting; the missiles were all on me. It was madness. There was no following through on targets or even flying straight, all I could do was take the shots I could and start looking for the next. Swear to god, I thought I’d break my neck from looking around so much. To say nothing of the constant G-forces Monarch put me under, felt like I was being slowly crushed by an elephant. The other pilots were equally overwhelmed, like sweet burbling Dust Mother I couldn’t imagine being one of the poor bastards that had already been fighting by the time we arrived. And Galaxy, I know I give him crap, but I genuinely have no idea how he managed to keep all our IFFs under control. Through it all, the missile warnings never stopped; it was easier to just assume that we were being followed by a missile at all times, because that was right!

Hot damn though, bit by bit we chipped away at the enemies. Comic and Dip focused on rescue efforts, just keeping the enemy corralled away from our allies and in nice bundles for Monarch and me to smite like the gods of war that we are. I’m not joking, we shaped the battlefield like artists at a potter’s wheel. Damn, I cannot even begin to describe how invincible I felt. Then, just as it looked like it was finally over, those damned Peacekeepers appeared with one last wave. You could feel the fear . Monarch though, he straight-up laughed and revealed that he’d put speakers in our plane in the best way possible. “Pallas, Hail to the King.” We charged straight at the best pilots in the world unable to hear our own equipment over the squealing of guitars. And I loved every freaking second of it. My flight handled the Peacekeepers while the rest of our flight handled their backup. The exhilaration when we downed the first one… oh I wish I could bottle that feeling and send it your way. The three of us wound up downing five of Crimson Squadron between us, Comic and Dip getting one each. Hell, I was almost disappointed when it was over, I was ready for more. Probably would have loosed a missile their way if I had any left to send. 

Then… it was like a state of afterglow. We were exhausted, we were beaten to a pulp by our own maneuvers, and we were drowning in sweat, but dammit we’d done it! The biggest air battle of all post-Calamity history and we’d completely curb-stomped them! We were celebrating the whole way home. Honestly, it felt like we were going to wind up partying into the night. Of course, the was before boots hit concrete. I swear, the instant I left my plane, it was like my legs turned to jelly; Monarch had to catch and carry me over to a box to rest on. How that lunatic was even able to walk, I have no idea. Despite seeing double and having jello for limbs, damned if I wasn’t still riding the mother of all highs. I miiiiiight have gotten a little too caught in the moment and kissed him.

Don’t get too excited, even if something more scandalous had happened, I sure wouldn’t be confessing to anything in a letter to my sister. Actually, the after-party of this crazy, crazy mission was way too low-energy for anything anyways. Well, sort of. Everyone was still incredibly excited and singing victory songs or toasting each other, but it was like our bodies weren’t getting the message that we were supposed to be happy. Comic and Dip probably did the smartest thing possible, just found themselves a nice little thicket of trees to sit under and fell asleep on each other’s shoulders under the stars. Honestly, it was probably the earliest night the base had ever seen. Easily the best, though.

Okay, now I’m going to bed. Hopefully my limbs will remember what bones are by morning.

Love,

Prez

P.S.: Hey, wishes come true! Guess who’s getting another guncam recording? And there miiiight be a copy of Monarch’s mixtape if you ask nicely.


	12. Midnight Light

Dear Sybil,

This last week has been particularly pleasant. Oh, not the work; basically everyone burned out their plane’s engines so all us mechanics were working overtime. No rest for the wicked, right? Thankfully, the pilots have been in good moods in general and mine had a little extra reason to treat me. I think Monarch’s been spending more time cooking this week than actually flying. Tamales, pozole, menudo, tacos al pastor, mole poblano, chimichangas, dude took me on a full-blown flavor tour of everything coming out of Southern Cascadia. I’m not sure I can put into words what it was like to go from MREs to home-cooked meals, but imagine you’d been locked in an iron mine for months seeing nothing but rocks and the first thing you see when leaving is an art gallery. To wildly misuse a quote from our Cascadian liaison, “You’ve already got the job, who are ya trying to impress?” After seeing how Dip and Mick try to keep their workplace romance under wraps, I thought Monarch would do the same, but for a guy who barely speaks subtlety doesn’t seem to be his strong suit. Not that this girl’s complaining.

That said, it’s totally his fault that we had to take a stupid F/E-4 Wraith into our most recent mission. Listen, I don’t make the rules: you distract the crew chief, don’t be surprised if it takes longer than normal to fix your plane. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but this Wraith was another one of those test beds the Cascadians were fussing with. Actually, this whole mission was wacky for a variety of reasons.

Basically, some weird sightings had been made around an off-shore industrial park some Federation-sympathetic corps were using, the Cascadians wanted that investigated and any Federation presence stomped on. So, while the local spec ops boys slipped aboard our flight would come in and make as much noise as possible. Of course, that’s what Monarch does best. Mostly it was a vacation flight only interrupted by Galaxy’s ass-riding, but there were a LOT of railguns, as in they probably would have been better off buying a _Type 205_ airship for the amount of money they spent on them. Regardless, it seemed like it was just going to be a fun little bout of vandalism with a splash of counter-intelligence; NOT corporate espionage, since we weren’t looking to personally produce what we were taking. Sorry Dip, that one gets to stay on the ol’ bucket list.

Then, at the tail end we picked up two aircraft taking off from one of the platforms. One took off like it left the oven on in Siberia but had what seemed like an airship-style cordium ember trail, the other turned to engage us, and hoo boy was that an experience. Only ever got a good look at the thing in the gun cam, thing spewed bullets like a malfunctioning popcorn machine and its pilot’s flying was actually crazier than Monarch’s, if you can believe that. Oh, and it also started firing railguns off higgledy-piggledy because apparently we hadn’t had enough of that. How the heck they ever get a railgun to fire from a fighter without ripping itself in half, I’ll never know, but it sure had me sweating. I was genuinely scared, at least until our spec ops fellas ripped the pilot’s bio and revealed she was a Federation sympathetic merc at Oceania. In an instant it was like Monarch decided that holding back was for panzies. Real talk, we probably spent less time flying than doing a controlled fall in that brick with wings, and with those weird nozzles it made an already hellish dogfight just downright brutal on me. Monarch, though… sweet burbling Buddha, I’m grateful that the battle ended when it did, because I think he might have genuinely been possessed by a rage demon for a solid five minutes there.

Boy, was it a good thing our intel boys made themselves scarce when we landed, because I’m pretty sure Comic was looking to hang their skins on the wall. For once even Dip wasn’t even able to chill her out, she just stormed off base saying she was going hunting. Half expected her to reappear behind the hangar with the bloody remains of a cat in her teeth. Even Monarch was in a fervor, but he focused it on trying to help the cowering intel boys figure out what the second aircraft was, and fervently praying that the pilot got caught on camera being sucked into the turbines. Poor Dip wound up spending the whole night pacing around with worry about both of them until I talked him down by getting him to bore me to sleep with space facts.

Thankfully, a good night’s sleep and a belly full of huevos rancheros went a long way towards helping everyone’s mood. Wound up actually having a fun little chat with Dip about what we all might do after the war, and if we’ll still be flying as wingmen. Dip seems to have seventeen different ideas, all of which conflict violently with each other. Me, I think I’d be content if I were able to move you guys over here to Cascadia and retire from the combat scene, preferably with those three being inducted as honorary members of the family. Or maybe more literal family, but let’s not put carts before the horrible mutant chimeras have replaced horses in our age. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss the thrills of flying, but that’d be supplanted by the lack of back pains every morning. Thank the dust mother there’s a chiropractor on base. Hmm… I wonder if I’d be allowed to keep Sophie. Or maybe a bear would be a bit much for a pet.

Nah. She’d be awesome!

Anywho, give the folks my best. From the sounds of things the rebels have really started picking up steam, so maybe this war will be over soon. If we’re lucky, maybe we can have that dream reunion of mine by the end of the year.

Love,

Prez


	13. Valkyrie's Call

Dear Sybil,

You ever have a really bad case of deja vu where you just know that it’s impossible for you to have done this thing, but yet you feel like you’ve done it anyways? Hell, I’ve never even been to Sawaiiki, much less done any aerial operations over it, but I swear I’ve flown over there at dawn with an orange sky before. I’m also 97% sure I’ve never destroyed the largest airship fleet in history. Maybe the monks back home have a point about reincarnation, but I don’t remember seeing anything fancy in the history books involving them.

Anywho, today was a **BIG** day. See, apparently the Feds are sick and tired of losing, and decided to whip out the biggest stick they had to swing: Task Force One. Everyone was a bit unnerved by that name, poor Dip was straight up shivering as he climbed into his fighter while Mick double-checked her will. Considering what they’d done to the great mercenary cabal, it was no surprise. Our mission? To eliminate TF1 in port before they could get to Cascadia; simply put, if they made it into the theatre, the war was probably going to end there, or get a LOT uglier. Fortunately we would be rendezvousing mid-air with reinforcements, but even then the flight we had looked a bit light for what we were doing. I wasn’t scared though. See, when we were loading up, I commented to Monarch something like, “The only plane we have that can reach out that far is the Pallas, but she’s not great for this job.” He looked me in the eye with this terrifying sparkle and said, “Good. I’d be disappointed if it was easy.” Yeah… methinks I know what happened to his sister.

So, no big surprise that when our formation descended on the port, it was just a massacre. Don’t worry, we only hit the military targets, and Monarch and I focused our efforts on the airships and naval forces, but boy was it a spectacle. Heck, we only caught half of them in port and it was still a breeze. I sure wish Monarch would take the altimeter more seriously so I didn’t have to clean sea salt out of the intakes. It was like he was on a mission to look all the ships’ captains in the eyes before dropping bright green eggs on them. And when the flagship _Zetec_ came into view, good Lord it was like Monarch had been waiting all his life for this one moment and had rehearsed it seventy-four times. You’ll probably get footage of this at some point: crazy bastard flew up over that monster and dive bombed it like we were in piston planes and flew us through the tail booms while the big thing snapped in half. I’m not sure what made me feel more like a bad-ass, that or flying home from the Behring Strait, but damned if that wasn’t just kickass.

The whole mission was basically one big fireworks party. Kinda surprised that the Sawaiiki national guard didn’t get involved, but then again we didn’t touch them and Dip laid things out pretty well for them: stay down and we’re cool. Hell, there was even one poor fella out there yachting when we hit, which more than a few of pilots took pleasure in buzzing. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall on that boat. “I say, Sir Wellington, this is quite a spectacle.” “Jolly right, Lord Pate, but tell me, does that beastly craft appear to be getting closer?” “I do believe it is, sir.” “Shall we jump overboard?” “Smashing idea, old chap! AAAHHHH!” Though, I feel kinda bad for the clean-up crews, even if none of the fuel tanks on the airships or boats sunk in port ruptured (which is a big IF), there’s still a lot of debris to fish out. Well, at least Sawaiiki’s tropical. Come to think of it most of the Fed sailors probably survived too, which is nice.

Man, I’m so grateful Comic had the presence of mind to take us dress shopping the day before, because the moment we touched down it was countdown to party time! And this time there were no excuses, no exhaustion to tie us down, no losses to dampen our spirits, no commitments, just the excitement of bringing down the largest airship fleet in history and a few dozen of our closest friends to share it with. Did I ever mention that Galaxy was a former radio jockey? Yeah, someone found some equipment for him to DJ it up and we threw a PARTY. Betcha the locals that showed up thought it was a victory party. You should’ve seen our boys’ faces when they saw me and Comic (hint: tongue, meet floor). Was the time of our lives, I'm telling ya. Monarch and I were king and queen of the dance floor, and Dip… turns out he’s got some good serenading chops. Even old Kaiser got his game on to sweep some twins off their feet. It’s a good thing that the Federation didn’t try anything that night, because by the end of it everyone was either in a bathroom stall or someone else’s bed. Was it irresponsible? Yes. Worth it? TOTALLY.

Well, after all our shenanigans and the hangovers, it’s been nothing but good news since. Apparently with TF1 out of the way, the Feds are making a hard retreat, since their overwhelming reinforcements just aren’t coming. The war’s momentum has swung hard in our favor with no sign of changing. Dip’s got the best feel for the political stuff, and he’s saying that the Feds will probably try to keep this war going for another week or two at best, but mostly with the aim to try and slow our advance to enough of a standstill that they can dictate decent terms. Probably hoping to keep Prospero and Presidia. Mick doesn’t seem to be complaining; she's always been the most mercenary and she's getting delusions of retiring to a manor in the wine country. Me, as much as I’m happy with the hazard pay I’m sending home to you guys and the bonus from flying with the great and mighty king of the skies, I’ll be glad when I can relax again. As for Monarch, he’s just hoping that the war goes long enough to liberate his home town. Not that he’s grim about it; never seen the man so happy and hopeful. It’s so infectious too. It’s weird seeing Mick laughing and telling jokes, and judging by the amount of PDA between those two Dip’s happy to fuel that fire. Yeah, things are looking up. Hopefully I’ll be seeing you guys soon.

Love,

Prez

P.S.: Okay, so maybe “king and queen” of the dance floor was a bit much… please don’t look for videos of that night. Man, why did Dip have to be a genuinely good singer? Well, at least Mick also tried to sing, mwahahahaha!

P.P.S: Did you hear about the frog that parked illegally? He was toad.”


	14. Open Season

Dear Sybil,

This week was a rough one. The war’s still going well, but man the Feds are getting desperate. I know that war crimes have been going on, that’s just the nature of things, but I don’t think I’d actually consciously seen any happening until today. I’ll admit, I’ve questioned the morality of my presence here a time or two, after all I’m not a Cascadian, I’ve got not dog in this fight (well besides my dog, Monarch, and the pack). But you know what? Today I feel good about myself because I can confidently say that whatever I've done here, I'll never have "tried to murder firefighters" on my conscience!

So yes, the Feds decided that the best way to cover their retreat towards Presidia was to set fire to the Cascadian countryside. Because if economic trickery didn’t win over the people, I’m sure mass arson of an entire county will. Monarch and I were deployed to cover the firefighters trying to put out the blaze and knock down the ground forces still willing to put up a fight. It was utterly surreal flying through smoke and fighting over this bright orange glow. Incredibly unnerving too, considering that if we got shot down we’d be ejecting right into the fire zone. Even if we didn’t land in fire, the air was all kinds of messed up by the thermal drafts, the old Pallas was rattling that much during the Bering Strait fight! Kinda felt bad for the ground troops down there too, not sure I could imagine a worse place to fight. Not for the pilots and airship crews though, those bastards were trying to shoot down firefighters. Seriously, who the hell does that?

Definitely wouldn’t want to be them when the Cascadians caught up either. By all accounts the soldiers have been brought into POW camps, but I can’t imagine the rebels were particularly gracious hosts. Honestly, it was just sort of sad after we won. Sure, we stopped the retreat and captured a major Federation force so that it couldn’t continue to cause us problems, but on the flipside that that meant that the huge wildfire they’d set was for absolutely nothing. All it did was get people and the wildlife killed. Including firefighters, because apparently the pilots’ moral compasses were made on opposite day. I’m sorry, I'm not letting that go. How the hell did these guys see a mission objective like SHOOT DOWN FIREFIGHTERS and not have a little "Are we the baddies?" epiphany?

Plus, I’ve taken two showers and I still can’t get the smell out of my hair. Sorry if this letter winds up smelling like a campfire. If it’s any consolation, the stink has invaded the whole airbase. But not in a blanket way, more like you’ll be casually doing something and someone will walk by, ten seconds will pass then Comic goes “DUST DAMN IT!” like someone farted. Yeah, I know she plays up a tough game, but I know that this mission got under her skin more than a little bit. Monarch was pretty salty too, muttering something about “another sunken city,” whatever that means. Didn’t know where he disappeared to until he started unloading his frustrations at the gun range. Dude put so many rounds through a Mah Deuce that he melted the barrel and has been getting bitched at by the gunsmith for the better part of an hour. Can actually hear ‘em from here. 

Gave Dip and I some time to chat over a bottle of scotch though. Never had an Islay scotch before, was really good and worked with the smoke in our noses (probably why he chose it), but I sure couldn’t spell the name of the stuff if you put a gun to my head and gave me fifty tries. Something like Luffrasfoysgof. Try Goggle-searching that. But yeah, we mostly wound up talking about mutual homesickness and the pressures we each had growing up. Was expecting to come out of that conversation rolling my eyes at the pampered rich kid, but I think he’s more aware than I gave him credit for. Something I hadn’t thought about is just how much of his life was controlled and commanded by other people; what he said, what he wore, who he talked to, what he ate, all of it was always under scrutiny. Dude literally couldn’t choose his own friends at school, had to be mommy and daddy approved so that it wouldn’t reflect bad on the family. To say nothing of the social media sociopaths stalking him like a pack of coyotes. Kinda get why he bailed. I did wind up asking why he joined the military in that case, but that turned into a drunken tirade that I might have wound up joining in. Hind-sight, I think he was just choosing the one route he thought he could take towards his space dream behind his family’s back. Does make me wonder how he fell in with Monarch and Mick though. I mean, he and Dip are at least the TV sit-com style of odd-couple, but I’m genuinely curious where Monarch came into the picture. By the way, I swear I don’t have a drinking problem, a little poison is just a nice destresser after missions. Mick’s idea.

Well, regardless, war’s going a bit longer than expected, but scuttlebutt says Kaiser and the rebel higher-ups have an idea for how to force the Feds to fold. Has Monarch freaking excited too; can’t say when or where exactly, but let’s just say he’s already making plans to show me around his home town. If all goes to plan, my next letter will be sent from an officially liberated Cascadia.

Love,

Prez


	15. Consequence of Power

Dear Sybil,

I’m not expecting you to ever receive this. Things are so… so incredibly screwed. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like on your side of the world. I can only hope and pray that you’re safe. Please, please be okay. I’m not sure I could live with myself if… if we were partly responsible for what happened.

Not that Monarch, myself, or any of the Cascadians were the ones who did this. As absurd and insane as it sounds, the Federation are solely responsible. I swear to you it’s the truth. I’ll do what I can to get our guncam footage to you as proof. We were fighting to take Prospero. The end was in sight, you could practically feel it in the air. I’m not even sure why the Federation would attempt to continue the fighting, the soldiers clearly didn’t want to. Their resistance was limp-wristed and feeble, and I know that I saw at least one pilot eject from an intact plane. I felt a strange guilt about fighting them; this battle never should have happened in the first place. All these Fed soldiers wanted was to go home, it’s just their idiot commanders that insisted that this farcical attempt at keeping Cascadia was worth their lives. And then, just when we had it, just when the battle was winding down and I was fantasizing about after the war, the cruise missiles came.

We tried to stop them. I swear to you Syb, we tried with all our might. Monarch and I must have shot down thirty of the damn things alone. But there were just so many. Too many. Galaxy says they were cordium warheads. When that first one went off, that alone dyed the sky and land this deep, painful orange. There must have been a dozen impacts, all inside the city. Then… it was like the whole world erupted. You’ve never seen a geothermal storm like what ripped across the sky, made the things back home look like a fireworks show. Prospero… Prospero was just gone. It’s like the Calamity all over again. Those lunatics actually restarted the Calamity!

By some miracle we were able to keep contact with Galaxy, Dip, and Mick and we flew back to base. Not even sure what we expected to find there, maybe we were hoping to find some of the others still surviving there. They were, playing dead actually, but before we could land we got bushwhacked by a bunch of bounty hunters. Bounty hunters! Because apparently bounties still matter when the damn world is ending! All led by that Oceania pilot from that one experimental base, because apparently finishing what she started is more important than surviving the end of the world. During our battle she revealed Dip and Mick’s identities. I’m not sure you understand how the bounty hunters’ guild works, but basically now that they have their names, Dip and Mick will be running for the rest of their lives. I… don’t know if Monarch or I have been compromised, but I’ll tell you that Monarch made sure she wouldn’t be the one to tell. I don’t think she planned to survive if she lost, but Monarch… he would have shot down her chute even if she'd ejected. The whole fight he never even touched the missiles, just guns. It was the closest he could get to tearing them apart with his bare hands.

After we landed and reunited with the survivors (thank the Dust Mother poor little Sophie survived), what was left of our unit had been planning to pull up stakes. Just leave Cascadia, find some new spot to wait out the end of the world. But Stardust, our damn rebel liaison, dropped this crazy deal into our laps. Basically promised Kaiser and our flight the world if we’d continue the rebellion. Because he somehow thought that there would still be any fight left in Cascadia or the Federation after this sort of madness! I honestly thought none of them would agree, but Dip made a point that they literally had nothing to lose, and this deal would allow them to live a fulfilling life afterwards. Throughout the whole thing, Monarch was just staring at the hangar floor. I don’t think he ever read the deal, he probably would fight gratis. I didn’t sign.

I’m not sure what happens next. We’re taking shelter in a damn highway tunnel for the time being. Waiting out this storm to see what happens I guess. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I don’t know if my cover’s been blown, if there will even be a war after all this, or even if you and the folks are alive. Every part of me wants to run home, to you, Mom and Dad, to our brothers and sisters, to Ba. Forget this dumb, pointless war. I’m not sure how, but I want to find a way. If I can, I’ll figure out a way to get my other family to you too.

Maybe… they’ll be why I stay. Comic’s a wreck, alternating between bawling her eyes out in a tent and berating everyone she can get her words to land on. Monarch’s been staring at our Pallas for hours on end, hasn't said a thing in days. And Dip, I know he’s trying to hold together for them, but I don’t think he’s slept. At all. They need me. And… maybe I need them. I know I can't withstand this with just a grolar bear cub in my lap and a shot of suckitupfrin. I... I just watched a city evaporate before my eyes. Monarch's city.

If I can, I’ll get to you, I’ll get them all to you, new names and faces. Name ourselves after the Three Buffoons or something. If not… well, I just need one thing from you. Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me you’re alive. Whether you believe me, think I’ve been filling your ears with crap, hate me, love me, are joining the Federation Military, or are joining a resistance group. I need to know you’re all okay. I need to know you’re safe. Please. I need to know I have another world outside of this little tunnel. And know that if I never see you again, I love you with all my heart.

Sincerely,

Robin


	16. Letter to the President

Dear Robin,

Sorry it’s taken me so long to send anything. I’d like to say I’ve been protecting your cover or simply haven’t been able to afford the backalley postage required to get something into a warzone. That’d be a lie. Honestly, I just that I haven’t been sure what to say. Guess there’s no good response to learning that your sister’s been committing treason right under your nose, right? When did that start by the way? Did this begin before you started sending letters? When you last visited, were you already intending to do this? Or was this just the path your boy toy took you on? Well, either way, until this week I was the only one in the family that knew. Guess I couldn’t bring myself to break Ba’s heart, same way you couldn’t. At least that’s what I thought.

I don’t know what things have been like where you are, but if it’s anything like Daegu, I’m amazed you’re alive. There’s been cinders falling from the sky this whole time, catching entire blocks of the city on fire, and the geothermal storms have made it impossible to even leave the mart without protection. Feds have been patrolling as much as they can, but more than anything it’s been drones. I can’t sleep anymore with those damn things buzzing around at all hours. Refugees from other blocks of the city have flooded into the area, I hear the old Kagayaku Mall has basically been overrun. We’ve been lucky, Dad had the foresight to give a clan of them shelter. They’ve sort of become our personal gang.

No, that’s unfair to the Kelly’s, they’ve been really sweet. They’ve got a criminal streak, yes, but they’ve been genuinely trying to help around Kuo Mart. One of them, Siobhan, has been working particularly closely with me trying to figure what everyone would be good at. Plus, even if we didn’t need the help, as she “jokingly” put it, “A bored Kelly’s bound tah break somethin’, and we’d nae wan’ that, yeah?” I still sometimes notice extra inventory getting “mysteriously” added to our catalogue. They’ve also been helpful for keeping the Feds from stealing from us, “for the war effort.” Which, I guess brings us to the heart of the matter.

I don’t know when I knew you had something to do with what happened. Was definitely before your letter arrived. Maybe even a little before the Fed propaganda rats started talking about what happened. Just… with how you and your own little gang have had their fingers in everything in Cascadia, there was only one place you could be when the Cascadian Calamity hit. Gave me a few hours to start unraveling this mess you dropped in my lap before the FIA came in demanding to talk to us about you. Yeah, your cover’s blown. A whole platoon of cops descended on the store and these two suits spent an entire day interrogating members of the family, asking what we knew, which wasn’t much. I kept my trap shut, and luckily it was easy to tell them that the last I’d heard you were headed to the Caribbean. They never found your letters though; I had to hide them from the family too after all. Luckily, the suits left none the wiser, and I was able to show the folks your letters as a family matter.

It was… hard. Dad took it particularly badly, damn near demanded you be disowned when I first revealed everything. Mom was just stunned. Ba looked like she was in more pain then than that day with the Magadane’s. I think showing the guncam footage, or more the radio chatter on it, helped soften things, but not much. Most of ‘em were just confused and shocked that sweet little Robin had done something so drastic. I’m not sure what would have happened to the family if that had been all we got from you, I don’t think we really had time to digest it properly with everything else going on. Maybe there would’ve been a schism, or at least some of them informing on you to the FIA. At least until we got your most recent letter and its video. That changed things. I don’t think it’s totally sunken in yet, but you’re no longer the person the family’s angry at. Ba seems genuinely proud of you, I see her smile every time she passes your picture, and I caught her rewatching the Bering footage. Don’t know how many have totally forgiven you, but we’re on your side now.

Weird thing is that somehow the Kelly’s managed to get their hands on my tapes. Found them hooting and hollering over the Bering video one night like it was a football game. I was ready for a brawl, but Siobhan straight up shoved a bottle of Red Guinness into my hands and said something like, “If I’d known I was stayin’ with royalty, I’d’ve polished me shoes.” Whatever our family’s thoughts on you wind up being, I can promise that the Kelly’s love you. Hell, I think half of then have a crush on someone in your unit, and I’m pretty sure the other half are liars.

As for me? I’m not sure I can articulate just how pissed I am at you. I’m mad you put me in this position. I’m mad that you’ve put the whole family at risk. I’m mad that now your face is being flown around the news stations as an emblem of treason! Seriously, what were you thinking?! Yes we can use the money, but this is insanity! But at the same time, I’m so, so proud of you. I don’t know if I should be, but considering what the Federation did, how much it makes my blood boil, I’m so proud you’re out there kicking back. You’re out there at the tip of the spear, kicking ass and taking names.

That courier also had an offer for anyone willing to fight. Had to hold little Misha back from doing that, and myself for that matter. However, when the homefront kicks off, because that Prospero footage you sent WILL kick something off, we’ll be with them. Doubt we’ll ever be soldiers, but every war needs logistics and right now there are a lot of people hurting in Daegu, hurting because of what the Federation did to them, whether they realize it or not. The propaganda stations are going to try to spin it however they like, but some things speak for themselves. And the fact that you and Monarch, the great enemies of the Federation, fought so hard to stop it will add to things.

Plus, putting names and faces to you is definitely going to backfire for those Fed bastards. So you tell Evelyn, Pete, and “Señor Reyes” (seriously, what’s his actual name?) that the home front is behind them 100%. And more importantly, I’m with you, sis.

Love,

Sybil

P.S.: Monarch, if you ever read this, you better look after her. I’d hate to earn a reputation as a crown killer.


	17. No Respite

Dear Sybil,

I’m not sure I can put into words how relieved I was to receive your letter. Took its sweet time getting here; I spent the better part of a month sweating your response to what happened, and that of the folks’ for that matter. I wish I could send you the hug I felt when I read it. I love you so much, sis, I hope you understand that. Plus, it’s done the gang good to hear that at least somebody in the Federation has our back.

These last two months have both been boring as sin and stressful as hell. On one hand, it’s mostly just been us trying to get as many planes functional as possible. On the other, nobody’s in a good place mentally right now. I think I’m most worried about Comic; she’s cooled off a bit, but honestly seeing her so downcast and talking to our Dust Mother chaplain has been unnerving. I’d frankly prefer her screaming at me. We’ve been trying to keep her spirits up as much as we can, but honestly I think Dip’s the only thing keeping her going, and that ‘deal’ that Stardust offered is just the carrot that he’s using for her. Dip’s been throwing himself at training and looking after Sophie in his free time, and I think that’s gone a long way towards keeping him together. Nothing like hugging a bear cub to soothe the soul. He and I have gotten a lot closer as friends, confiding in each other and trying to brainstorm ways to look after our respective loved ones. Monarch’s in an odd place, because on the surface he seems fine, especially after we received your letter. Even managed to get a laugh out of him when I relayed your warning. He’s even taking more of a leadership role on-base, helping me organize the mechanics and acting as my quartermaster in the chaos. But then we’ll check in on the radio and catch some Federation bit and he’ll just get this look in his eye, like if he even looks at you you’ll spontaneously combust.

We had one particularly weird event basically the day after I’d sent off your letter, actually. A four-man flight of Federation pilots landed on our base to defect. Just kinda came in low and slow with their gear down without any radio signals to speak of and popped out of their canopies waving their sweat rags. They’ve been earnest enough, but I don’t think they intended to defect, in fact these were two-seater SK-30 Tailenders with only pilots in them. After having examined the planes, I think what happened was these guys were ferrying the planes to another airfield and they started developing technical issues, possibly bad enough that they lost a fifth man in their flight. They looked at where they were, either heard our radio transmissions or had some intel about where we were, and decided they’d rather take their chances with us rebels than risk the dangers of flying these things the rest of the way. Can’t say I blame them, I’ve basically torn two of them to pieces in order to find enough parts to get a third one flying.

Speaking of which, I’m generally worried about our planes. To give you an idea of how screwed we are, for the Pallas alone her engines were so completely screwed that I had to cannibalize the fourth SK-30’s engines and mount those in the old girl. That’s saying nothing about the hell I had to do to keep the wings functional. Monarch took her out for a spin the other day and reported this real nasty rattling during hard maneuvers. At first I thought that it was her balance being out-of-whack, but I’d already gotten that as good as she’s gonna get, so I’m still trouble-shooting that. Plus, the old girl’s far from the only thing I’ve had to fix; Dip’s plane has been a particular monkey on my back. Only saving grace there is that I had plenty of replacement parts for him. Luckily, Mick’s Harpy is still holding strong, though her radar was fried and I had to replace it with a spare plane’s.

The only real bright side is that those Fed defectors also came in with a projector and a bunch of old video discs, so every night has been movie night. Even got our hands on some pre-Calamity stuff. If you can get your hands on a copy, find yourself something called Fury Road. If I had a credit for every time someone on base screamed “WITNEEESSS” we’d be able to buy an airship. Also, I’m not sure why people thought that a bunch of walking corpses would end the world. I mean, literal hellfire raining outside hasn’t done that. Fortunately, there was a lot more hopeful stuff in there too, particularly the old cartoons they brought with them. Nothing like a kid’s movie to raise morale.

Anyways, yesterday the war restarted proper, because apparently not even a second Calamity is enough to get the dipshits in charge to drop their grievances. Essentially a large contingent of Feds were regrouping to continue the ground war and we were sent in to destroy anything they could use to that end. I think the most unnerving part about it was that Monarch and I had to fly that one functional SK-30. It didn’t creak as much as the Pallas, but I’m pretty sure that thing is being kept up only by the divine power of my prayers to Saint Duct Tape. Thankfully there weren’t many fighters in the air for Monarch to get crazy against, so mostly it was an air-to-ground smackdown. Can’t believe I miss the old Toadstool. There was one really weird bit where the base commander took a pair of these old land battleships out to try and take us down. I think the part that confuses me the most is that he was broadcasting on open channels and accidentally announced what he was doing to us. Plus, those things were sitting ducks to the old Tailender. Honestly, I felt bad for the crew and all the other soldiers who didn’t really have a choice but to fight. That lunatic general probably gave them no choice.

Damn near didn’t make it home; our right engine flamed out during our landing approach and Monarch had to give her nearly full throttle to keep us from stalling. Dumbass enjoyed it though, wound up giving me a thumbs up and saying, “Lovely engineering work, _cariña_. A+.” Jackass. Well, regardless, the whole base seemed pretty enthused to be getting stuff done again. Not that I ever stopped working, but everyone’s moods are a bit better and people are playing nice. Mick’s still dour, but at least she’s back to Angry Mick and not Emo Mick. Galaxy even headed a chilli cook-off today, probably to hide the fact that most of the food we have left is canned beans and what meat the scouts can hunt down. Monarch made a real good go, but I think his choice of raccoon meat shot him in the foot. Winner wound up being one of the ex-Fed fellas with a white chilli; totally worth the stomach ache.

I’m still not convinced about this deal my guys made. I mean, Cascadia’s basically giving us the keys to the kingdom and ensuring Monarch’s name becomes a bit more literal for everyone concerned. I’m just grateful that my man isn’t letting it go to his head, in fact I’m pretty sure he’s only agreeing to it for the others’ sakes, with a splash of revenge thrown in. He straight up said, “I would’ve stayed without the deal. Well, assuming Eve and Pete stayed. And you.” Plus, I’d like to believe that I’m helping keep him from diving off the deep-end. At least, we’re sure cuddling like that’s the case. Well, I hope that I’m not necessary to keep him from going nuts, but… ah you know what I mean.

Anyways, hope this letter gets to you safely sis and I hope you’re staying safe out there. Don’t know how long it’ll take for this to get there, but I’m not gonna get on the courier’s case. I mean, it’s getting to you in the first place with the money I’m making for ya; that alone is worth it. Send everyone my best.

Love,

Robin.


	18. Return

Dear Sybil,

I think it’s safe to say that I’ve had a pretty intense last couple days, and it’s taken me a little to unpack. I could never call it worse than the Calamity, but I definitely feel more exhausted than after that mission. Hell, it’s been over two days and I still feel a little weak in the knees. And that’s saying nothing about the emotional fallout.

So, despite all the setbacks, the war is back on track and looking to be in Cascadian favor again, though it’s shaky enough that I sure wouldn’t want to be breaking out the champagne. We’re moving south, and in order to get a good staging ground for the final march on Presidia the meat of the Independence Force are moving into Prospero. You know, ground zero. Because somebody managed to find solid ground in that sea of lava. Thing was, the Federation was still keeping a light aerial presence near the ruins, for no reason other than area denial near as I can tell, so my flight was sent in to oversee the operation. Was expected to be a basic mission, but one that Stardust didn’t want to take any chances on. I suggested to Monarch that we take the newly-modified Pallas out, give her a stress test.

Hoo boy, was that a mistake. After swatting down the token patrol squadron, none other than goddamn Crimson Squadron showed up looking to brawl. Now, a 3v8 dogfight is no laughing matter, especially when our enemy are flying next-gen hyper-maneuverable fighters, while our planes are held together by bailing wire and a little pixie I keep caged on the dashboard. BUT, that wasn’t the hardest part, oh no. It was dealing with Crimson Lead’s incessant sanctimonious sermons! Bastard kept blathering on and taunting us, blaming US for the entire damn war, right down to the obliteration of Prospero. Asshole should’ve been a preacher. For me he was intensely irritating, and I was eager to rip his damn throat out. Dip though? Sweet burbling Buddha, he went full berserker. He shot down two of the squadron himself while screaming at the top of his lungs at Crimson, to the point that Galaxy straight up had to cut him off. I swear, if that man’s rage was bottled and put it in a warhead, the Calamity would be the least of our worries.

For me, the banter faded into white noise after a certain point. Monarch didn’t take the taunting any better. Actually, he started the battle by having Pallas play a song about someone called the “Red Baron,” a joke to soothe our nervousness I guess, but during the sermons he had her stop and… I think he found the same well of power Dip did. He scared me sis. Like, actual, genuine, I’m terrified for my life scared. Until then the battle had been going against us, Pallas even took a cannon shell that ruptured our canopy. Then… he just ripped them apart. It was like that battle with Frost was him on a collar, and now he was straight up a wild beast. I can’t think of any other way to put it. He. Ripped. Them. Apart. I couldn’t keep up. I was more of a passenger than his partner. There were some bits where my main goal was just to stay conscious. The SK-30 engines made it even worse; now he was able to do maneuvers that pushed me beyond my limit. I genuinely did see black once or twice there. Luckily, most of the time when he did that he caught a Crimson pilot flat-footed and didn’t need to maintain. We wiped them all out, and by the end my chest felt like it was going to collapse in on itself.

Never been more grateful for land. Not that the drama was over when we touched down in what was left of Prospero’s airport. See, since the airport’s hangars and buildings were mostly intact, that meant that a lot of locals were holed up there. And I mean A LOT. It was… tense when we went to negotiate with them to let us use the base. Monarch being a local and the famous “Crown” helped keep it from escalating into a shouting match, instead mostly tearful pleading from the locals. Eventually we got the incoming general to agree to let them hot rack with our troops. I don’t think any of them were happy with that, but Monarch agreed that our fighters would just be here until we could refuel and patch the battle damage. Also rest, because even the King of the Skies has his limits. That sure endeared him a lot more to them, and got people a little more comfortable around us. Not that any of us wanted to give interviews. Dip was in tears and he disappeared into a tent with Mick for most of the evening, though I could hear her soothing him throughout. Monarch and I… weren’t much different, though he was apologizing for hurting me and trying to make it up to me, regardless of how many times I said it was fine. Pretty sure he said “sorry” that night more times than every other word in the entire time I’ve known him.

Then, the morning before we flew back to the highway, Monarch asked me to go for a drive with him to somewhere in the city. Yeah, it’s what you’re thinking: he wanted to see his church, Santa Esperanza. Or rather what was left of it. Only the tip of its steeple was still above lava. I never thought I’d see the big guy break down. He straight up fell to his knees and asked me, “Was he right? Is this my fault?” All I could really do was be there for him and tell him “no.” Just hold him and hush sweet lies in his ear, like “It’ll be alright.”

What finally snapped him out of it was when I suggested finding something he knew that looked out of the blast radius. That could have backfired, but we got lucky: Tadeo’s Taqueria was still standing. Just a little taco shop, but it made the great and mighty Monarch cry like a little kid. Not that he knew any of the people that were holed up there, Monarch told himself that Tadeo was probably at home with his family and still in that section of the city. Nah, seeing it standing was just a little hint of normalcy, a tiny speck of hope, and I think that’s what he needed.

Ever since we got back, there’s been a weird disconnect between us and the fellas back at the highway. They’re more pumped up than ever, bustling around and eager to finish the fight. I think all four of us are beyond tired of this war, and I’d be lying if I wasn’t getting introspective too. Crimson’s gotten into my head a little bit. Not that it makes sense. I… don’t want to believe that Prospero and all the other deaths are on us. We helped turn the tide, sure, and you could make an argument that we’re the reason it as swinging so hard towards the Cascadians. But we weren’t the ones that put WMD’s on the table. That’s not our fault. I mean, it can’t be our fault, that sits on the Fed generals and politicians, MAYBE the Cascadian leadership if they received (and ignored) warnings. There’s no way that’s on us.

But the end’s in sight. Bright side! Bright side! Keep the hammer down, girl! I think I need to do something nice for the guys, get our spirits up. Something simple and homey. Tea party? I got my hands on a kyusu a while back, before we came to Cascadia, might see if I can scare up some extra cups and sencha. Or maybe I’ll try my hands at cooking chilli--STOP LAUGHING! I’ve gotten better! But yes, we’re almost there, I just need to help my fellas limp over the finish line. We’ve got this. We. Got. This.

Oh hell, my engineers JUST told me the Pallas’s engine mountings are coming loose. Back to work for your sister.

Love,

Robin.


	19. Red Sea

Dear Sybil,

Okay, I’ve got maybe an hour while our machinist hammers out some parts for the Pallas, and I’m gonna make the most of it. I swear the planes on this base won’t give me a break. Ever since Prospero it’s like every last one of them have been on suicide watch and the engineering crew are their support group. Their engines are just refusing to keep together and the other ancillary parts are just getting worn out. Our latest mission has sealed the last Tailender’s fate, that’s for sure.

Not that it’s all doom and gloom. I think Dip’s meltdown went a long way towards getting Comic to clear her head. She’s quit drinking cold turkey, actually she recruited me to do some target practice with her private stash. Didn’t earn her any favors with the other fellas who would’ve rather had the drinks, but I think she needed the catharsis. I think the most telling thing was after every shot she said this mantra of, “Can’t babysit both of us.” Not that it’s done any favors for her anger or depression, but damn if she hasn’t taken charge around the base. Like, at this point she’s basically become Hitman One on the ground. Dip’s sure noticed and straightened up at least, though now he’s got bags under his eyes big enough to go shopping with. Crimson really got under his skin I think, keep seeing him do this head shake twitch, trying to clear his head of some thought that’s sunken in. But he keeps up appearances for everyone else, even if Comic or I have to grab him by the collar once in a while and order him “Vent.”

Thankfully, Monarch’s back to normal, and even more fired up than ever. It’s been a godsend to have the big guy back to normal and eager to roll, because man am I frazzled. Haven’t even been able to think about the gravity of events past the planes disintegrating before my eyes. I know you’d be telling me to slow down, but frankly it’s been good for me, and Monarch knows it. He’s basically been my runner, getting me and the mechanics what we ask for and prepping our food for us. Actually, our food’s been better than usual, I think he’s been doctoring our MREs for us with his spices, not that he’ll admit to it. He just can’t have much left of them if so. But it’s been much-needed. Dust knows we need all the morale we can get with the final push to Presidia in sight.

So yes, this last mission: simple in theory, go out there with our favorite pirate, Captain Woodward, and sink the main Federation fleet outside Presidia so a blockade can be set up. Only one itsy bitsy teeny weeny cargo ship full of elephant diarrhea in the lotion: it was just our flight and the Emminent Domain’s flotilla against the entire enemy fleet, including ED’s sister ship. Normally, Monarch’s untouchable, at worst we’ll get a little shrapnel from a blast or something. This time, that old Tailender was practically a flying piñata. Oh, he was still working his usual magic, shredding any ship or fighter that dared share our airspace, it was just that there was such a hailstorm of fire coming up at us that we might as well have been dodging raindrops in a typhoon. 

On the bright side Comic was doing a damn good Monarch impression, picking up any slack we missed, and Dip was trying to match us on ship slapping. Plus, Woodward was his usual magnificent self; I swear, if that man were ten years younger Monarch might have had to worry about competition. As it is, I’m wondering how the Emminent Domain stayed afloat what with it having to carry his MASSIVE BRASS BALLS. Lunatic dove his ship straight at the enemy formation like he wanted to harpoon the enemy flagship and haul it aboard like a whale. Pretty sure any movie about Woodward will end with a cutlass duel with the Fed admiral. I’ll be sending guncam footage again, but this time it’s just to witness Woodward in all his glory. Oh! And at the height of the battle freaking Kaiser came in with a full-blown aerial armada, broadcasting the mother of all power trip speeches on an open channel. Never thought I’d miss that man’s shenanigans, but damned if he doesn’t know how to make an entrance. If he and Woodward ever team up long-term that’d be a power couple that not even an act of God could slow down. Would probably get some killer movies out of them too. Whole mission ended on one mother of a high note.

That said, the SK-30 is completely toast. When it was nicknamed “Tailender,” I don’t think they meant that you’re supposed to land it with a missing rudder and a wingtip knocked off. For once I had to be the one to carry Monarch out of the plane, my man was actually hyperventilating during our landing pass. So yeah, all parts from that thing are going to the Pallas to make her as battle ready as possible. Thankfully the new guys came in with some spare parts for her and the Tailender’s engine is now an organ donor to our old girl. Not that it was totally enough, hence the machinist sweating his balls off. Dip mentioned an old thought experiment where a ship replaced every part over the course of a voyage and asked whether or not it was the same ship at the end of the journey. Definitely been chewing on that while working.

Not sure what to make of the new guys. They’re eager, that’s for sure, and a few of them are Oceania veterans, and I’m pretty sure a few of them are actually here from other nations, particularly the United Kerneuropa Alliance. Also, you should do a headcount of your Kelly’s, because there’s a Ned here that matches your description of them. Even asked me to autograph his helmet. They’re also pretty meat-headed and if I had a dollar for every proposition I had to field from one of them Monarch would actually be making less. Damned if the fresh blood haven’t done wonders for morale though. Hasn’t been much time to settle down and get to know the ones worth talking to, but that’s okay. Right now we’re on the home stretch, and one way or another we’ll be landing in Presidia. Hopefully it’ll be under our own power.

Oh, gotta wrap this up, that hydraulic piston is done, gotta go install it. No rest for the wicked, right sis?

Love,

Prez


	20. Presidia

Dear Sybil,

It’s over. I think. My head’s still foggy from… from the fight. I guess technically we won. Sure doesn’t feel like it. It all feels like a bad dream. I’m sure you’ve heard something by now of what happened to Presidia. Don’t know if footage from the after-fight have made it. I was debating whether or not to send you footage of it, but honestly at this point who gives him a damn. Better you hear from me than someone else. Not like I did any good up there. So, screw it all, here’s my account of what happened.

We were actually told that were headed into Presidia the day before. It’d been a week and a half and everyone was getting antsy, most of all Mick and Dip. Pretty sure everyone took it as a chance to spend one last evening of quality time together, for what good that did when stuck in a damn tunnel. The others outside our little circle watched some pre-Calamity movie called Independence Day, but honestly we just wanted to spend the time with what family we had. We just huddled close together and spilled our guts to each other. Any regrets and pains we were carrying, our fears and anxieties, our plans. No, plans isn’t the word. Dreams. We just spilled our dreams over each other and comforted each other in this moment. Even now Dip and Mick couldn’t agree on what they wanted, but they knew they were heading out together; I’m pretty sure the only thing that kept Dip from getting on one knee for her right then and there was the lack of ring to do it with. Monarch… he just wants to be able to set his crown aside and live a normal life, to help rebuild his home and forge it into something better. We thought for certain that this next mission would be what would decide our futures and that win or lose, we probably wouldn’t need to worry about what came next. It was a nice night at least, probably the last good thing to happen.

Then that morning came. The cooks somehow managed to scrounge together a steak and egg breakfast for us. I didn’t taste it. I ran final checks on Pallas, in fact in the middle of that I realized we hadn’t named her this whole time. I figured she’d earned it and threw the question across Monarch, he came back with _Cú Chulainn_. Not sure what that’s referencing, but it sounded nice. Well, the old girl wasn’t ready by any other standard, but the _Cú_ was as ready as I could make her. Not even a kiss from Monarch could still my jitters, but both Kaiser and Galaxy did their damndest to get everyone fired up. The whole way there our resident disc jockey was blasting metal.

Then we arrived over Presidia. The entirety of both militaries were arrayed for battle, and Monarch fought to end it as quickly as possible. We ripped through the streets of Dip’s hometown, blowing a hole open for our ground troops. The last Federation airships and their escorts were sent plummeting to Earth by our hand, their flagship snapped in half by a bomb right in her heart. Entire squadrons folded before us, the remnants of the Federation air force brought down by a Pallas only kept from the scrapyard by a lack of anyone else to do her job. Even the Federation navy sailed out to meet us, several of them spouting flames from their stacks, like some sort of insane kamikaze charge. Everyone fought with everyone ounce of their being, from Monarch down to the lowest grunt. Dip and Mick were particularly amazing, nearly matching Monarch with their combined aerial ballet. Then, just as we were stacked up to finish things, a message came over the radio: ceasefire. The Federation and Cascadia had agreed on a ceasefire.

I cannot begin to describe to you how I felt in that moment. Some of the others were disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to personally shove the last Feds off the continent, Dip included. Me? I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I wasn’t happy, I was just so incredibly grateful that it was all over. That those airships and missiles would be the last to ever touch this poor beleaguered city. I even pulled my journal out to start writing a letter to you right then and there. Monarch took us up high to get some distance from it all, and he reached back to grab my hand a squeeze. For a tiny moment, for maybe two I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt everything would be okay.

Then Crimson came. There are no words harsh enough, no punishment severe enough, no hell hot enough for that vile serpent. I still don’t know if it was under Federation orders or if he just snapped. Doesn’t matter. That son of a bitch came out of nowhere and cordium bombed the city. In an instant, that bastard took everything. Victory from the Cascadians, escape from his own people, peace from us all, and the lives of so so many. Just erased it all in an orange glow. Damn near everyone was rendered inop by that bomb, the only thing that saved Monarch and me was altitude. Dip, Mick, Kaiser, all forced to eject. I still don’t know what happened to them. Pretty sure Galaxy went down too.

There was no force on Earth that could have stopped Monarch from coming after him. I knew that it would be bad, I’d barely handled their last brawl, and this time Crimson had some crazy new superplane. I still tried. Railguns fired, more missiles than I could ever keep track of erupted from that thing creating ethereal angel wings, and throughout it all Crimson taunted us as we fought over the melting remains of Presidia. I tried to help Monarch. I truly did. But… I couldn’t. I just… couldn’t keep up. I passed out before the fight was even halfway done. I regained consciousness briefly a few times throughout it all, but it was more like a dream. A haze of orange split by a hailstorm of railguns and glowing red lights that I swore were the devil’s eyes. Then… there was this blast and somehow I knew I could stop fighting to stay awake.

I woke up in the medical tent back at the tunnel, Monarch at my side. I… I’m still having troubles. My balance is all out of whack, I keep losing focus in my eyes, and I swear my thoughts keep slipping out of my grasp. The doc says that for the amount of punishment I took a prolonged recovery time is to be expected. Thanks for making me feel better about my failure, bud. Monarch’s tried to be there for me as much as he can, and I’m grateful, but Cascadia’s also calling for him. He has a nation to rebuild and they keep dragging him off. I don’t know how… helpful I’m going to be. But there is one thing I can do.

Like I said, I’m sending a copy of the guncam. Show people what Crimson and the Federation did. Show them what they’ve done to Cascadia. Help Monarch bring the Federation leaders to justice. It might be my last service, but dammit I’m going to do my best for him. For all of them. I… don’t know if I can articulate just how much it means to me. But please, I’m begging you to do what you can Sybil.

I don’t know if you’ll see me again. I hope so. I miss all of you so much. So... so much. Give everyone my affections. In case it’s the last I’m able to send.

Love,

Robin


	21. Letter From the King

Dear Sybil Kuo,

I’ve been overdue to talk to you for a long time. Robin offered a long time ago to put us in contact, but in case she hasn’t told you I’ve always had… difficulties with words. It’s overdue and I think I owe it to both Robin and her family to touch base with you. If for no other reason than her sanity. The weeks since Presidia haven’t been good on either of us, and she’s taken it particularly hard. I’m sure you guys would have some sage wisdom to give me about how to help, but some wounds don’t heal so easily.

I think what’s making it hardest is Robin’s still not fit to fly. I tried my best to keep from hurting her during that fight, I swear on my life I did everything in my power, and I’m so sorry for the suffering she’s gone through because of me. But... I guess my best wasn't good enough for her. Regardless, we've been putting her through physical therapy to get her back into working order, but it’s been a long road. In the meantime, Cascadia has given me a prototype fighter to test out, something called a Chimera, with Robin as my crew chief. I know it sounds ridiculous to say this, but with all the damage done in Presidia, I’ve basically become the backbone of Cascadian military. A single plane to guard them from the Federation’s wrath. Though, from what I’ve been hearing it sounds like the other nations have been rallying against the Federation. We’ve certainly been seeing quite a few volunteers landing at our airbase. Which normally I’d be grateful for--I’ve been personally run ragged--but I think it’s been really rubbing Robin’s situation in her face. I don't think ground work is enough for her, she doesn't like the uncertainty of sending me up alone.

I’ve been trying to tend to her, I really have been. There’s only so much time in a day though, and I’ve taken charge of the entire Cascadian Air Force, what little there is to command anyways. Kaiser’s taken the logistical reins, not to mention recruiting with his usual zeal, and Captain Woodworth has been a surprisingly eager help, but we’re basically all that’s left. Pete and Eve have just vanished. I don’t know if they’re dead or run off or what, though my money’s on disappeared into the woodwork. Wouldn't be the first time Eve pulled that stunt. Hurts that they didn’t send a message, but I suppose it’s better for them if everyone believes they’re dead until they’re ready to come up for air.

Things are better than they look here though. There’s a camaraderie here, a fraternity of shared trauma and loss, especially here in Prospero. The ground is beginning to harden and people are starting to rebuild where they can. Santa Esperanza church is rising again, her lantern salvaged to be placed upon the new structure. I know there are other things that would be better to start with than a church, but I think the saint of hope is just what people need right now. I’m not a disciple of the Dust Mother myself, but I find sermons soothing, and I think Robin’s been grateful for the matriarch’s comfort. I don’t think I’ll live to see Cascadia return to its old self, and frankly I shouldn’t. I don’t deserve to see it. Not that I blame myself for what happened, at least not chiefly, but I did play a role. “Though the soldier may create peace, he can never craft it for himself.”

However, I do wish for Robin to find her peace. Some part of me is eager to continue the crusade against the Federation’s leaders, to find them and rip them up by the roots. In fact, that part of me is ascendant every morning as I fly by the volcano that looms over what had once been my home. But then I land and see Robin, struggling to keep a smile on and maintaining a facade of the old enthusiasm, and I know that I want her back to the way she was. If Cascadia never re-enters war as long as I live, then I will be able to die happy. I just want to build a home here for us. Quite literally it seems.

On that note, I’m sure that this goes without saying, but I want it in writing anyways: the entire Kuo clan has an open invitation here. You will always be welcome. I can get a dozen other heads of state to corroborate that: your family has a blank check if you wish to come here. And I do hope you come. I’m hopeful that any war that comes to your neck of the woods spares the civilians, but… after what’s happened to my home, I don’t want to take that chance. Not with Robin’s heart. Out here we can protect you. Out here you will be safe, or as safe as anywhere else in the world. If not here, then please find a hole in one of the other nations, the West African Concordat or something. I know it’s not easy pulling up stakes from the life you had--believe me, I know from bitter experience--but Robin’s safety and sanity are my first priority. Even were we not together, she very well might be all the family I have left, and I’m not about to let anyone hurt her again. 

Plus, there’s something I’d rather discuss with her family in person than by letter.

Anyways, I guess I’m running out of things to say. Surprised I made a letter this long if I’m being honest. I’ll do my best to drag Robin out of her funk and get her sending letters again. Until then, take care, and I look forward to welcoming you home. Hopefully by that point I’ll be able to take you to one of the old taquerias once they’ve been rebuilt. Failing that, maybe you and Robin will be able to help me personally fix that.

Best Regards,

Cascadian Minister of Air Defense, Diego “Monarch” Mariposa

P.S.: If you see the rest of my family out there, give ‘em a swat on the ass for making me worry and send ‘em back here.


End file.
